So Much You Don't Know
by Grey-Rain-Cloud
Summary: Legolas loses his mother while he is still young, he can't seem to connect with his father of brothers, and he's being sent away to Rivendell so he's not in the way. But when things don't go as planned and Legolas sets out on his own, will his remaining family realize just how much they want him around? What does Legolas' first adventure bring for him?


**Author's Note: This is a very hesitant post for me. I would just like to know if anyone would like me to finish and post the whole thing. I have not read the whole Lord Of The Rings books, so if there is information in here that is wrong all I can say is 'I'm sorry.' Um... yeah. Hopefully you enjoy!**

When Legolas was young, his _nana_ taught him many things. She taught him how to read and write, and they would make up stories together. She taught him how to dance and how to laugh and how to sing. She made sure that he enjoyed his elfling years even though his _ada _had no time for him—he was either busy being a King to his people, teaching his oldest son Throndur how to rule, or spending every spare moment with the wife he loved dearly. The best things that Legolas' _nana _taught him though were always done in secret. Like when she showed him how to use a bow when he was still too young in the eyes of many because he had asked it of her; she even made him a small child sized bow that he could use with more ease, along with a quiver full of arrows.

Legolas' _nana_ brought him into the forest often so he could talk to the trees and explore safely instead of him feeling as if the only way he could have freedom was if he snuck out. She showed him which herbs he could use in case of injury and which were edible and which to stay away from. She played games with him and mothered him; she was his very best friend and he was her life.

So when they were in the forest one day, when Legolas was about one hundred years old and looked no more than ten in mortal years, and a spider came and attacked unexpectedly she protected him. Legolas did not have his bow and quiver with him; they were not going to practice that day. His _naneth _pulled a long and sharp knife out, but it was too late. The spider's stinger pierced her gut and she jerked sharply and cried out in pain while dropping her knife. The arachnid pulled out its stinger and advanced closer, making awful clicking and whirling noises that would haunt Legolas' dreams for many years.

Legolas ran to the knife while the monster was busy and raised it clumsily with shaking fingers. He plunged it into one of the spider's eyes, and it screamed a high-pitched and grating noise. Legolas pulled the knife free and it thrashed its hairy legs, whacking the elfling to the side harshly before scuttling off. Legolas crawled over to where his mother was lying prone on the lush grass, clutching his bruised side. She was pale, shivering, and her breathing was stuttering.

"Legolas, _ion nin_…" The Elven Queen spoke softly, but urgently. "I love you…"

"_Nana_!" Legolas sobbed. He did not understand the concept of death, considering he was an immortal elf, but he knew that his mother was hurt and in pain—and something must be terribly wrong for blood to be smeared onto her lips.

"You were very brave Little Leaf…"

"Don't sleep _nana_…" The elfling whimpered.

"You must promise me _ion nin_… that you will not blame yourself for this." The Queen touched her child's wet cheek softly and stared at him as intently as she could. Her light blue eyes—the same as her sons—were sharp with her tears. She believed she was to die.

"Yes _nana_, I promise." Legolas wasn't sure what exactly he was promising, but if his _nana_ said it then it must be true. "It was the spider's fault!" The elfling vowed to forever hate spiders.

"I love you Little Leaf… I love you…"

"I love you too, _nana._"

The Queen of Mirkwood did not die that day, thankfully, but she could no longer find peace within the forest or anywhere else on Middle Earth. She set out to the Undying Lands shortly after. He husband and three sons were left on Middle Earth with naught but her memory and her last words of promise.

"You will see me again," Queen Calathiel smiled faintly, the only kind she seemed to have as of late, "when it is time we shall meet once more."

The entire realm grieved, but none so much as the royal family. There are many different ways to grieve though, and not all are good.

The blond elfling sat in a fine room fit for royalty—which he was. He was on a much too grand bed swathed in green silk and feathered pillows, and surrounding him were the items he treasured above all. There was a small blanket with painstaking embroidery on it, a leather journal filled with pictures done by a skilled hand entirely in ink, a plain knife that shone with the care it received, a small and light golden harp, and a bow of light wood with arrows in a quiver to match.

Next to him—in the not so treasured pile—was a pack that held two sets of traveling tunics and leggings that matched what he was wearing currently, all in an inconspicuous green that would blend easily in foliage and forests. There was also a finely crafted sword that screamed wealth, with pretty jewels imbedded in the hilt. Though it had just as much care done to it as the knife, one must wonder why it was not in the other pile of precious possessions. There was _lambas_ bread wrapped in leaves, several pouches of dried meat and fruit, nuts and two water skins, and finally some flint.

The elfling was fair haired with silvery-blond hair, and sky-blue eyes. He was a thin child. He was lightly muscled and appeared to have no body fat, with long limbs built for climbing trees. His hands were calloused from hard work—a great contrast to what one would expect from a child in this room. He was a beautiful child of the Woodland Realm where his father, King Thranduil, ruled. His face was fair as with all elves and on it rested a contemplating expression.

Carefully, he wrapped the harp in the embroidered blanket and set it in the pack atop his clothing before he put in a coarse grey blanket over both. Next was the journal and the knife—fit in a sheath. He took out a second pack now, slightly larger than the one before, and put the bow and quiver full of arrows in it as gently as possible.

"Prince Legolas?" Came a voice from the hallway. It was his nanny Narathen. "Are you almost ready to leave?" Her voice was polite, but there was sadness in it. She had looked after the youngest Prince for twenty years now, ever since his _naneth_ had left and she would miss him.

"Yes." Legolas strapped his sword—which he had left out of both packs—to his belt, shouldered both his burdens and made for the door.

King Thranduil watched with his oldest sons as the youngest one was sent away to Imladris. His reasons—as well as his sons; they had come to this decision together and unanimously—were both practical and selfish. Legolas looked so like his mother that it hurt to look at him; he acted so like Calathiel in personality and temperament that it hurt to be around him. So even though officially the reason the young Prince was being sent away was because he needed to be better able to defend himself before he was risked to the perils of Mirkwood—and this _was_ part of the reason—the larger part was that the others in the royal family wanted him gone.

"He will be fine in Rivendell," said the King to his second son, Calathen, who looked vaguely troubled. "Though I am not overly fond of Lord Elrond he would not mistreat an elfling."

_ This may be true, but that did not mean that it was alright to send a child there, _Calathen thought. As soon as he thought it though he shrugged the thought off. His father knew what was best, and it would be nice to not have to be reminded of his _naneth_ every time he had a meal.

"Yes, and he will learn how to wield that sword better." Throndur put it with more confidence then he felt. He felt a sort of twinge when his little brother disappeared from view with his three guards, but just like his brother he ignored it. He didn't even spend time with Legolas so why would he miss him?

Thranduil, in contrast to his sons, felt that a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He would no longer have to see the eyes of his departed wife staring at him; he would not have to hear the light laugh that was so similar to Calathiel's but so different; no more would he double-take in the hallways when in the peripheral of his vision he saw the fine silver-blond hair of his Queen on the head of a child. He felt more at peace then he had in twenty years.

He had tried to keep Legolas as busy as possible, with horseback lessons, history lessons, sword fighting lessons, and many more but it never made it any easier. Legolas did very well in all of his lessons—not that Thranduil knew anything besides what the private tutors told him—but there was not anything that he really excelled at. Throndur did well in politics and could wield a sword like his father, and Calathen was a healer and a scholar, but it seemed that Legolas was not exceptional in anything. In all of his one hundred and twenty four years the only thing that came close to keeping him occupied beyond requirement—that Thranduil knew of—was horseback riding, which he was average at and mostly just liked the idea of caring for his very own horse.

"He will hopefully find something to occupy his time more sufficiently." The King declared before striding purposefully back into his palace. He threw the thought of his youngest son from his mind. There was no point in worrying any longer.

Narathen, who had gone to see her favorite elfling off for an undetermined amount of time, glared at the back of her King with wet eyes. She had heard everything that had been said and she knew exactly why Legolas had been sent off. She also knew that all of the fancy tutors and extensive education was really just a way to keep Legolas as far away as possible—the very same lessons that the child had worked so hard at to please the father that he only knew as 'Your Majesty', or 'My Lord', or 'My King'.

She felt rage that a father would so easily push away his child just so he would not have to face the grief of his wife's sailing. _One day soon, _she predicted silently, _those three elves would regret the formal treatment to the youngest in their family._

She did not know how right she was, just as she was unaware that the second son of the King watched her silently and saw everything from her tears to her obvious anger to her sadness that he did not understand. Yet.

_The group of four had left their home in Mirkwood weeks ago. They—the three guards and Legolas—had traveled to Lothlorien with relative ease. They had only encountered three spiders through Mirkwood, and the three warriors had dispatched one each while the other two guarded the Prince. The small party had stayed about a week in Lorien—where Legolas mostly just talked to trees and spied on archery practice for new tips because he was the youngest elf there just like in Mirkwood and the adults were too busy for him—and then were off again, making their way to the Gap of Rohan._

_ Legolas was not having a good time. The whole time traveling the elder elves barely spoke to him, and only if he asked questions in the form of an order. (Legolas was not as fond of being demanding as his brothers and father. He remembered his mother always asking politely for the servants or cooks to do something.) Warriors One, Two, and Three—they had not told Legolas their names, so he had named them himself—huddled together and spoke lowly to each other, but they would not speak to their Prince on their own accord._

_ Since the elfling did not like ordering them to do things—even to just talk to him—he did not have much to do. He hummed to himself, talked to his horse, went over history in his head as well as sword fighting techniques, and finally just looked at the nature around him. He tried not to dwell on the fact that his father was sending him away. Maybe if he had told his King that he could use a bow with much more skill then a sword he would have been allowed to stay, but he could never bring himself to tell any of the secrets that had been between him and _nana_. They were private; they were one of the few things that he had left of her besides memories._

_ The whole party was completely caught off guard. _

_ They had made camp for the night, and there had been so little danger that Warriors One through Three thought that it would be alright to break out a bottle of wine and make a small fire. Legolas, feeling out of place and lonely had climbed a tree and tried to sleep. It wasn't easy with the laughter and voices coming from below him, but he had managed a light doze on a lower branch—if he fell off in his sleep he wanted to be as close to the ground as possible. He woke not ten minutes later to the whining and barking of clashing swords._

Dinner was a quiet affair. This had become very normal ever since the youngest Prince had been sent to Imladris, but the royal family tried to ignore how much they actually missed their lesser known family member. It was not working very well.

"How is training going Throndur?" Calathen asked in the awkward silence.

"Fine, I suppose. The newer ones are careless though. Quite arrogant, too. 'Like a filthy _orc _will ever get the better of _me_! I could kill all of the disgusting creatures on Middle Earth myself. In my _sleep_.' They say." Throndur mimicked the voice of one of the particularly stupid trainees. It was quite good. "So I said, 'Why don't you then, huh? Nobodies stopin' you. Go on, do us all a service.'" Here Throndur changed his voice to something deeper and more masculine to represent his own voice. This mimicry wasn't as good. "Of course, he just stares at me—so do his little followers—and then he slinks away with his friends laughing after him." He took a healthy bite of venison. "He was much more serious the next lesson." The Crown Prince, though his face was neutral, had a very smug tone of voice when he said this.

"So you are enjoying teaching?" Calathen couldn't help but be surprised. "I did not think you would."

"Neither did I." Throndur said. "But I cannot deny that I find it strangely satisfying to call them out on their blatant stupidity. It makes me feel warm inside." He said this all with a completely straight face.

"Ah…"

They both laughed.

"The guards that we sent with Legolas; who are they?" Thranduil asked abruptly.

Throndur scrunched up his face.

Calathen furrowed his brows.

Thranduil looked blank.

"You sent three of the newer warriors with him, my King." Said a server. "You could not use any of the more experienced warriors because there was more need here. I believe their names are Eldhir, Menthon, and Dethien. All brothers." There was no inflection in the server's voice, so the three had no idea if he disapproved or not.

(The server disapproved. He had gone through training with all three of them, and though they were fine with weapons, he could not see them doing well with protecting a charge, especially one as important as the Prince. Plus, if you wanted them to be useful at all, you had to split those brothers up. They were too family oriented to care enough about who else was around them. Yes, the server—who had always been the one to take in the youngest Princes rabbits and other kills to the kitchen, and had never said a word because nobody had ever asked where they came from, and showed the elfling how to clean what he brought in himself—disapproved.)

"What is your name?" The King asked.

"Lendron, my Lord."

"What do you know of these guards, Lendron? Don't spare me any details."

Lendron smiled.

By the time he was done, all three of the royals would be very concerned.

_ The orcs came from where the exit to the woods would be—where they were traveling to—and were obviously exulted about their luck of finding three elves unaware. They did not know about Legolas, and Legolas was planning on keeping it that way. There were seventeen orcs by his counting, and Warriors One, Two, and Three were doing well for themselves even if they were a little bit tipsy. _And,_ Legolas thought, _if things take a turn in the orcs favour I shall shoot them with my arrows.

_ Really, he was going to stay up it the tree where it was safe and he wouldn't be in the way, no matter how much he wished to help, but then Warrior Three—who looked to be a bit more than just tipsy—decided to do something stupid. He made his way slowly to the tree where Legolas was perched _safely_, and yanked him down. The elfling was surprised, and rightly so. He was doing everything his tutors had told him to do, and everything he had heard when he eavesdropped on the warriors training right. He would have probably broken or at least sprained his ankle with his awkward landing, but at the last minute he grabbed a low branch and slowed his fall. _

_ Warrior Three pushed him into the tree while Legolas was silently celebrating his uninjured state. The young Prince's head banged into the trunk of the thick tree hard enough to make his vision to blur and double. Well, he was no longer uninjured._

_ "Run, Prince." Three said. "Run quickly!" He obviously thought that this was a great idea, or he had already gone halfway through and decided that he had to finish it_. How queer,_ Legolas though confusedly, _I thought that there were only three warriors, not six._ Three—or Three-Point-Five?—pushed his own pack into Legolas' hands, even though the Prince had two of his own, and shoved him down a random path, and Legolas, still being a little out of it, ran. It seemed to be the best idea now; he couldn't clime another tree until things stopped spinning, but he also could not stay in the middle of a battle._

_ So he ran, two packs on his back, one in his hands, and he had no idea which way he was going._

Three elves, all of about the same height and build, with the same golden hair and grass-green eyes stood in front of a door. It was a wooden door with no designs on it and had absolutely no different qualities to the doors adjacent or opposite it. Yet these three elves—who stood proud and confidant—hesitated.

"Mayhap we would be invading his privacy." The one in the green tunic with elaborate decorations on it said.

"Of course it would be Calathen," said the one with a silver circlet and a sword. "But 'tis not as if we shall tell him."

"Quiet Throndur, you too Calathen." The one with a crown of lush green leaves said sharply. "We are family, and so it would do no harm to just look into Legolas' room."

"Yes _ada._" The two sons of the King replied in unison.

The knob was twisted, the door was opened, and they walked in.

"It is not what I was expecting."

The bed, where many emerald green blankets resided, along with a pile of fluffy pillow, was unmade, but the room looked clean and free of dust. The rest of the room was strangely bare, with no sentiment to be seen. There was a plush blue chair with a fancy tunic thrown onto it without a care it seemed. On the desk there were many—_many_—books heaped onto it, along with many parchments. They all crowded around it.

"Well he certainly knows his history." Calathen observed.

"He knows quite a bit about nature—herbs for healing, eating, what's poisonous." Throndur said.

Thranduil was still looking over his youngest sons work. He wasn't surprised by the quality of work—the tutors had told him that his son was bright—but he was surprised that Legolas had never told him about his test scores. He must have been proud of them if he kept them—and he should be proud, they were exceptional—but whenever Throndur or Calathen had done well on a test or perfected a sword technique, they had always come to him first to show him. They had always been very eager to show off how well they were doing.

"May I help you, my Lords?"

All turned around quickly with guilty faces. They saw a she-elf with light brown hair and pale green eyes. She had an upturned nose, and a smiling mouth that was pulled into an unimpressed straight line. One eyebrow was raised, and Thranduil almost winced at how much she resembled Lord Elrond at that moment.

"Well, you see…"Throndur started.

"Oh, yes." She said very briskly. "I see very well. You are snooping in the young Prince's room." She stared at them with inscrutable eyes. "Is it not bad enough that you ignored him while he was here, but when he leaves now you go through all of his personal things? Thank goodness you didn't venture into the closet!"

"Forgive—"

"No, no. I'm just a simple servant, I can't go about ordering you in and out of places—that job is reserved for the three of you. So I'll just be leaving you to your doings." She backed out of the room. "I'll just go about like that nice young he-servant Lendron and pretend that I never see anything that Princes or Kings do when no one's watching—I won't even answer until directly asked by another person or persons of royal blood like he does!"

They all stood a bit stunned after she had left.

"…What was that she said about the closet?" Throndur was the first to recover.

The walk to the closet was slow—much slower than to the desk—because of caution. They were a bit scared that the lady servant would come back. She was scary.

The closet was just as the door had been: plain, boring, served its purpose. When it was opened, there was a noticeable divide. On the right side there were the rich and formal leggings, tunics, and robes that the three had all seen Legolas in for their breakfasts, lunches, and dinners. On the left side however, there were dirt and grass stained—so ingrained to the material that it was doubtful that they would ever be truly clean—tunics and leggings. They were well used and a bit worn out. They honestly looked to be year's old, with all the patches of random green and brown bits of material. Neither Thranduil nor the two oldest Princes had seen Legolas wear these.

"Why would he not get new clothes if they were this worn out?" Throndur asked.

"I do not know."

"Maybe he didn't want anybody to know that he needed them?" Calathen ventured.

Thranduil nodded and paused. "… What was it the lady servant said about Lendon?"

_ It was dawn before Legolas stopped moving. After a while he had stopped running—it was hard to sprint for hours, you know—and alternated between walking and jogging. He had to stop though, because his breath was starting to sound wheezy, his stomach was so tight with cramps it felt like a tightly coiled snake, and he was about ready to drop out of exhaustion from his sleepless night combined with being constantly on the move. He also thought that the fact that he was staggering was a good indicator that he should rest._

_ Legolas sat down at the base of a tree with raised roots so it made arm rests, and brought out one of his water skins. He drank it slowly; he had no idea how long he would be out here and how much water he would need later. Then he took out a bit of dried fruit and meat to eat. Legolas breathed in and out slowly; now that he had stopped he was becoming more aware of how bad his situation was. He was alone; he had no idea which direction he was traveling in; and what if he encountered orcs or other fell creatures? What if there were spiders here too?_

Be quiet!_ Legolas commanded himself. _Calm down!_ When this didn't work he pretended that his _nana _was there with him. She would have thought about his head first. Legolas touched where the back of his head had been slammed into the tree. There was no blood, which was a good sign, but there was a large bump. Legolas held up three fingers—good, he only saw three fingers._

_ The youngest Prince of Mirkwood thought for a moment: _naneth _would say to look at what he had. He opened the pack that carried his bow and quiver—full of arrows—and put the quiver on his back. He stuffed the empty bag into his other one and took out the knife that had belonged to his mother. The one that he had used to kill the spider that made her go away. He strapped it to his belt by his sword. Legolas looked at the pack that Warrior Three had given him, and opened it._

_ There was a blanket that he didn't need, some more food of the same variety that he had already, another water skin, a semi-dull knife that was obviously used for cutting out edible roots, a sewing kit he assumed was for medical reasons, and a fresh bottle of wine. The Prince wrinkled his nose at the last one. He had of course, always wanted to try it. Ever since he had seen all of his family drinking it—including his mother!—he had desired to drink it also (his _nana _had always said that he wasn't old enough.) Now he did not. Why would he want to drink something that made all of his guards—especially Warrior Three—act so stupid._

Liquid Stupid,_ thought Legolas. He snorted and shook his head. He moved all of Three's supplies into his own pack and once again put the empty bag into his. He had no horse to carry his things now—Legolas briefly missed Tuilin and hoped that he had not been slain—he could not carry three bags on his back in addition to his quiver, but he could manage one heavier one. He hoped._

_ As for if he was seen by orcs or if there were spiders: he would either run from them or kill them; and of course there would be spiders—Legolas saw a small one on the forest floor; it met his boot—even if they were not there physically, they always made up for it in his dreams. _

_ It seemed to Legolas that the only way to get out of this would be to get to Imladris himself. He couldn't stay here, it was too close to where the orcs had been, and he didn't know the way back to Lothlorien. And as Legolas looked more closely at his surroundings, he thought that he could see a lighter path. It most likely lead out of the forest. He would stay here today and rest—as well as hunt for a rabbit; he would be far away from trees for a while and didn't want to waste all of his non-perishables—then he would travel at night so that if he encountered an orc he would be awake._

_ Legolas was just thankful that elves didn't need as much sleep and food, and had great stamina. He had a feeling that he would need it._

Lendron sat in the Kings study before the King himself, as well as two of his sons. He had his suspicions as to what they wanted of him, and he would happily oblige, but that did not mean that he was happy that they were only asking now. This should have happened twenty years ago—nay! This should not have been needed if they had known the young Prince before the sailing of the Queen. This went as far back to when Prince Legolas was a baby.

"We would just like to ask a few questions of you Lendron." The King tried to put him at ease. Lendron was already relaxed.

"Of course, my Lord. And I shall endeavour to answer all of them to the best of my ability." Lendron smiled disarmingly and tilted his head slightly. The Lords looked slightly uncomfortable before covering it up. The he-servant intended to make this as difficult for them as possible, if only for his own amusement.

"How are the kitchens to your liking?"

"Oh they are exactly as I thought they would be, my King."

"Indeed. Is there nothing you find to be lacking then?"

"Well, my Liege, if there is one thing as of late that there has been lack of it would be of rabbit. There is so much fish, King Thranduil, but all of the elves that are of good shot are either warriors or absent. So then we fish, or someone brings down a deer, but there is a suspicious lack of rabbit."

"Yes. I had noticed that there has not been rabbit stew for some time." Thranduil frowned. He rather liked stew once in a while. "Who had been previously providing the rabbit?"

"Why, my _Lord_, did you not _know_?" Lendron was walking a very fine line right now. He could not look like he was mocking his King, but neither could he not actually mock his King for his folly. A very fine line, indeed.

"What?" Thranduil was irritated; all he wanted was a straight answer, was that so hard?

"'Twas your son, my Liege, who brought me the rabbit."

"Excuse me?!"

_ The release of the arrow was almost soundless. It could have been mistaken for the wind, or an animal. The blond elfling jumped out of the tree he was in with practiced ease and walked over to his kill. It was a fat and brown rabbit that had been shot through the eye. Legolas was very satisfied with the clean kill, the animal would not have suffered any pain at all._

_ He walked back to his 'camp' and started to prepare it. He was very glad that Lendron had shown him this—he had not wanted to at first, as it seemed such a gruesome task, but Lendron had pointed out that if he ever wanted to be a warrior he would need to be able to skin and gut what he killed. He decided to keep the skins and make some fingerless gloves. He would be traveling on the outskirts of Fangorn Forest—through tree where he felt safest—and had heard that those trees had very rough bark. He would sew them together with the kit that Three had given him._

_ Legolas made a fire. He knew it was risky, because it could call the attentions of orcs, but there was also the chance that one of the Lorien elves would see it and he would go back with them. It would make all of this so much easier. But no one came, whether orc or elf. Legolas cooked his meal, ate a portion, and wrapped the rest in leaves so that he could eat it later._

_ He delayed a bit. Legolas climbed a tree and dozed a bit, then he started sewing one of his fingerless gloves. Finally though, it was dusk and he had to move. He put his pack on the shoulder opposite to his quiver, and after he was sure that he had cleaned up enough that no orc or man would notice anything amiss, started to jog in the direction of Fangorn. Legolas had decided that he would keep moving until he got there: he would go at a faster pace at night, but during the day would walk so he could eat and drink._

_ The youngest Prince of the Wood elves set out to Imladris on his own._

They were back in Legolas' room—the King and his two oldest sons. After speaking to the he-servant, and finding out that what Legolas brought to the kitchens was shot with an arrow, they were sure that they had missed something.

"Where would he have learned to use a bow?" Asked Throndur. "I was under the impression that he had only gone through sword training so far. Because it seemed the most likely thing that he would enjoy like you, Calathen, and I _ada_."

"He hasn't gone for archery lessons yet." Thranduil confirmed. "And I was unaware that he even had a bow, much less was able to use it."

"It seems that we are all unaware of much to do with Legolas." Calathen muttered. He was ashamed to admit that he had thought Legolas average in just about everything. Not that he was not smart, because he was, but just that there would be nothing that he would show any kind of exceptional skill in. Now as they were all rifling through desk drawers and looking under beds he couldn't help but think that his little brother was a stranger.

"I found something!" Throndur cried.

It appeared that there was a false bottom to the closet. It was just a simple board, but since there had been shoes and folded discarded circlets on top of it that it could easily escape some that the closet was a little more cramped then it should have been. There wasn't much in the false bottom, just some blunt practice arrows and some broken ones that were for some reason kept. There was a box that was hand crafted beautifully, with vine designs weaving all around it.

On the lid, in elegant carved script, was _Tithen lass_. Both Princes looked at each other, thinking the same thing, but it was their father who voiced it,

"That looks like the work of your _nana_."

Calathen cleared his throat. "Yes, we thought so too."

"Open it then." The King sounded gruffer than usual.

Inside there were pressed flowers, a hair clasp with a green leaf on it, snatches of parchment that all had sketches of Legolas with Calathiel, and a bracelet with the same vine design made of mithril. The three were looking at the contents of the box as if they were treasure.

"Mother did spend a lot of time with him." Calathen said.

Thranduil and Throndur looked at him sharply.

"When you two would be together and I busy studying, they were always together. They would read and play in the gardens, or she would take him into the forest. They were very close, I think." Calathen frowned, trying to remember something. He had not thought about any of this for years. The second Princes eyes widened when it finally came to him. "Legolas was there when the spider attacked her; he is the one who killed it!"

Before the other two could react to what they too had just remembered, there was a servant at the door.

"My Lords, there is a messenger from Lothlorien that wishes to speak with you urgently."

_ Legolas decided that he preferred traveling alone. Though his legs felt shaky, and he was in constant danger, he felt less lonely. It made no sense, even to Legolas, but the fact that One, Two, and Three weren't there to ignore him anymore made him feel better. Like his loneliness wasn't being shoved in his face. It was sort of like how at home he would go into the forest after a meal if he didn't have lessons and talk to the trees. It made him forget that his father and brothers did not like him as much as he wished._

_ They loved him, of that Legolas was sure of, but just because they loved him—which was required—did not mean that they liked him._

_ It was day now, so the Prince was walking at as slow a pace as he dared. He had finished off his rabbit, completed the glove, and was now sipping from a water skin. Legolas could see Fangorn forest. It was thick and intimidating; it was understandable that people thought that it was so dangerous. That the trees moved. But Legolas had a hard time believing that they were mean—trees had always been his friends. Nonetheless, he was not going to be traveling through it. He would go just deep enough for cover—and maybe he could find some more rabbit—and when Fangorn ended, he would make for the Gap of Rohan._

_ Legolas had thought about going to Isengard for help from the White Wizard, but had decided not to. The youngest Prince had met Mithrandir, the Grey Wizard, and he had been very kind (he had come after Queen Calathiel had departed to offer comfort). Legolas had never met the White Wizard though, and for some reason, whenever he thought about going to Isengard, dread pooled in his stomach and his Irrational side yelled at him, _No! Don't go there! Stay away!

_ Legolas had never really heard his Irrational side before, so he thought that he would give it a chance. The older warriors-in-training had always been told to listen to their instincts, and maybe Irrationality counted as instincts. So Legolas continued walking, and he hoped that he would make it to the forest before dark; he desperately wanted to rest._

"So you are telling me," King Thranduil started, "that the three guards that were sent to protect my son while on his journey to Imladris were found the day after they had left by one of your watchers in the middle of a small battle field with dead orcs surrounding them_, hung-over_ but hardly wounded at all?"

"Yes, my Lord." The messenger said.

"_Hung-over_?"

"Indeed, my Lord."

"Well," the King suppressed his rage at the sheer _incompetence_. "How fares my son then? You have yet to speak of him."

"Well… My King… You see…"

"Out with it!" Thranduil boomed.

"Your son was not present in the aftermath of the battle, and as I was sent immediately after finding the guards, I do not know where he might be…"

Throndur hissed. "So not only did those idiots get drunk while they were supposed to be watching over my little brother—at dark! When orcs roam!—but they also had the gull to lose him?"

"My Prince—" The elf was really hoping that they wouldn't use him as target practice. He was only the messenger after all.

"What!"

"…The guards probably put him in a safe place, telling him to stay there until the battle was done, but since they were all unconscious they were unable to retrieve him. He has most likely already be found and it recovering from the trauma as we speak."

Thranduil calmed, but Calathen could not be so easily be persuaded. "While they were inebriated?"

The messenger was silent.

"Adar we must travel to Lothlorien straight away." Throndur said fiercely, looking very much like he wanted to bash the heads of the guards with his bare hands. "We should question these idiots ourselves on their stupidity—and whether they still find themselves fit to be warriors!"

"I agree father. We can leave Herendir in charge." Herendir was Thranduils most trusted advisor; he had been there since the previous King had ruled and didn't seem to be tiring anytime soon. He and Thranduil were very alike—minus Thranduils hot temper.

"Yes." The King sighed heavily. He had never had the gift of foresight, but he had a feeling it would not be as easy to find Legolas as the messenger had said. "We leave in the morning."

_ Legolas did get to Fangorn before sundown, but he did not find a rabbit or any other animal for two days. He wanted on desperately too, because it seemed that the rumours he had heard were true. The bark of the trees was much rougher then the ones he was used too. While jumping from tree to tree, the hand that did not have the glove, when he latched onto a branch, would feel as if a layer of skin was getting sanded off. Legolas ended up alternating about every five trees which hand would have the luxury of wearing the fingerless rabbit skin glove. It slowed down his progress._

_ On the second day though, it seemed luck was with him. Legolas had found a tiny stream and was thankfully replenishing all three of his water skins—he had been running on half of the last—when a lame rabbit came hobbling towards the water on the opposite side of him a little ways down. He shot it through the eye, and brought it to his camp. It wasn't as fat as the last one, but it had a good amount of meat on it, and its fur was a silky white while the last had been brown. If it hadn't been lame, Legolas might not have been able to shoot it, it was so pretty._

_ He lit a small fire with his flint and cooked the rabbit meat by letting it rest on a rock. While his meal was cooking, he took out the semi-dull knife that had been in Three's pack. Legolas made his way to the. Stream in search for some roots._

_ Legolas found that now, when he was alone instead of being watched by guards, he saw and heard more. The call of a bird was more musical, the trees more beautiful. The water seemed to calm him down, and the Prince smiled. This trip was turning out to be much better then he had thought it would._

It took a week for Thranduil, Throndur, Calathen and there escort to arrive in Lothlorien, and each passing second the three Lords had gotten more and more anxious. Now that they were there though, with the people looked of Lorien were looking at them with unreadable expressions, there was an urge to take to the trees and hide was strong. They were brought to the infirmary immediately.

"My King!" The alarmed cry was echoed by two more voices.

The three of them all looked so alike—and perfectly healthy, which annoyed Throndur a bit—that the King did not even try to tell them apart. They all had dark golden hair, blue eyes, and low cheekbones.

"Where is my son." Though it was a question, the tone was demanding. It was the voice of a King.

None of the brothers spoke. Two of them stared at a third almost accusingly. Thranduil turned to the third.

"What. Happened."

The third shook under Thranduil's—as well as both the Princes—penetrating gaze. "My Lord, we had been traveling through the forest of Lothlorien and had stopped for the night—"

"You rested at night! When orcs would be about! Of all the stupid things you could do—!" Throndur could have gone on, but Calathen stopped him.

"Now brother, we must listed to _all _they have to say in order to find out what is the most unintelligent. Continue_, please._" Calathen's smile directed at the guard was chilly.

"Y-yes, my Prince. As I said, we had stopped for the night and there had been virtually no danger through the whole trip. We," his brothers coughed, and he shot them a dirty look. "_I_ thought that it was safe enough to have some wine."

Thranduil is the one who interrupted this time. "It is never safe enough to drink wine unless you are in a protected place! You were in a forest that had the potential for danger—and it obviously delivered! If that wasn't enough, you were supposed to be protecting my son!"

"I agree, my King," said King snorted disbelievingly. "… The Prince went up a tree to sleep." (Here he looked a little befuddled; just because he was a wood elf did not mean he was particularly comfortable _sleeping _in trees.) "A while later the orcs came and we went into battle…" He looked reluctant to continue.

"Legolas would have been safe in the tree though. Unless he went down…?" Calathen started to get a bad feeling.

One of the other brothers stepped forward boldly. "Yes, he would have, my Lord, and the Prince did not come down. He was pulled down."

"By an orc?"

"No, Prince Calathen. My brother," he gestured to the one who had previously spoken, "he had had slightly more wine then he should have, and in his confused state he pulled Prince Legolas from his perch, shoved him into the trunk, handed him his own pack, and told him to run." He paused. "We believe—from what my brother remembers—that he may have hit his head seriously when he was pushed into the tree."

"And why—_exactly_—would you say that?"

"He would have just climbed another tree wouldn't he?"

"When he was running away, he looked like he was the one drunk with the way he was stumbling." That was a mistake on the first speaker's part.

"THIS IS NO TIME FOR JEST!" Thranduil positively roared at them, and though he did not know it, the elves of Lothlorien that were close enough to hear him—which was a fair bit with his volume—cringed and hurried away. "Bring me to where this all happened. Foolish! Your foolishness may have cost me my son!" With that the King of the Woodland Realm—along with two of his sons—swept out of the room and fully expecting the three idiots to follow. They did.

_ It was several days before Legolas made it to the end of Fangorn, and by the end he was slightly relieved. The trees groaned and rustled their leafy branched constantly in their own language, and though Legolas was long past being scared of noises in darkness—he was one hundred and twenty four after all—he could not deny his unsettledness; he felt that it was connected to his Irrationality. He did not doubt at all that these trees were more alive than the ones in even his home or Lothlorien; that they could move. He was glad he had stayed to the edges._

_ Now he was on low hills that provided little—_no_—cover in the middle if the night. He was once again jogging at a good pace when he heard the now familiar sound of battle. Really it was the roar of orcs that made it obvious. And the camp fire might have drawn his attention. Either way, he notched an arrow and kept at his pace—Legolas was not completely sure why he went towards danger._

_ (This would become a defining quality in Prince Legolas as he grew older.)_

_ When he arrived but stayed at a safe distance that also allowed him to get a good enough shot, he saw that there were eight orcs—considerably less than what he had seen previously—and two men but four horses—one of them obviously being a pack horse. Legolas squinted his eyes in the darkness and saw an orc raising its blade high over a fallen figure. The Prince presumed this would ride one of the three riding horses. Legolas shot._

_ The ugly creature keened repulsively when the arrow struck its chest before it fell forwards, covering the injured man with its dead body. The down side to this was the fact that all the other orcs, after seeing one of their own felled by an arrow swung around to where it must have come from and all cried out in delight in seeing his elvish glow. They started towards him. The positive to this was that the other two men were able to behead and stab several of the orcs while they were sufficiently distracted._

_ Now there were only three—Legolas briefly thought that the number three was coming up quite a bit before he loosed another arrow. Then there were only two, which the men took care of themselves._

_ "Hello?" A man called out, obviously not able to see as well in the dark as an elf. "Hello?"_

_ Legolas hesitated only briefly before coming closer. He had never met a man before, and he needed to collect his arrows anyway. They had been fighting orcs too, so they could not be that bad._

_ "Good evening." Legolas made sure to speak in Westron._

_ The man blinked when he finally made out their helper. "Hey Jirod! The shootin' came from a lone child elf!" _

_ "Now's not the time, Hafel. Hamden is hurt."_

_ "Elves are good at healing, ain't they?"_

_ "That's what's said. Don't mean it's true."_

_ Hafel—who had auburn hair covering his head and face—beckoned Legolas to come with him. They made their way over the lifeless orc bodies to a sandy haired man—Jirod—who was kneeling beside another man who must be Hamden. He looked exactly like Hafel._

_ Jirod looked up at Legolas. He blinked. "The shootin' came from a lone child elf, you say?"_

_ "Aye."_

_ "Are you any good at healing things?"_

The brothers had shown them the 'battle field' and which tree Legolas had climbed. Then they had promptly been told to get lost. The tree was tall and leafy, with branches just low enough that the young Prince would have been able to climb it without difficulty.

"He ran this way," Thranduil stated, looking at the ground. He was the best tracker of the three. "He was stumbling, obviously, and not putting much thought into making it hard to see where he was going." Calathen and Throndur—they had told their escort that they would do this themselves—followed their father.

"Do you suppose he's alright?" The Crown Prince whispered to his brother.

"I have naught to comfort you with, for I feel consumed with my own fears."

Throndur frowned unhappily. He had his own fears too, which were probably very similar to Calathen's. He did not feel as if he could ever forgive himself if his youngest brother—who was still _so_ young—came to harm. _It is because_, Throndur suspected_, I do not know him at all, and I would lose something without knowing fully what it _was _I lost. There would always be that uncertainty. _He also knew that mother would be disappointed in all of them when it was their time to sail. From what he understood, Legolas and their mother had been so close that they spent almost every day together. He was ashamed that he did not know this until now, and even more that he could not remember ever trying to talk to Legolas about the grief of her departure—nor could he remember anybody else. For Legolas must have been greatly upset; he had witnessed the catalyst that had made their _naneth_ leave.

"He kept going the whole night, but in circles. Overall he did not make much progress." Thranduil said after an undetermined amount of time following the trail. Then his eyes lit up slightly. "He rested here!"

His sons instantly inspected their surroundings. There was a covered up fire bed, hardly seen small footprints, and some freshly dug up dirt. Throndur went to the dirt and started to dig slowly. "Well, he obviously caught something."

"Why do you say that?"

"The entrails are right here brother."

"Oh Elbereth," The King's shoulders sagged slightly.

His sons were on guard instantly. "What?"

"He traveled out of the forest. We shall be away longer than we expected."

_ Legolas dreamed of his mother that night. They were in the forest at home, and she was patiently showing Legolas what were the best plants for healing. Legolas was having trouble concentrating though; the trees were singing to him and he could not help but listen. He felt the joy of the trees, for they sensed his attentions on them. Their leaves shook with pride, and there was a rumble of satisfaction from there deep roots that the very ground beneath his feet resonated with._

_ "Legolas, are you paying attention?" His _nana_ asked, already knowing the answer. She always knew when her son drifted off—it was also fairly obvious because she could hear the trees also, and knew where their happiness came from; she certainly was not the one indulging them._

_ "I am paying attention _nana._" _

_ "To me?"_

_ "Sorry _nana_."_

_ "_Tithen lass,_ you have a wonderful gift. It has been many years since one so young was so deeply connected to nature, but there are other things that you shall need also. What happens if a friend of yours is hurt, and you cannot remember how to heal them? What I am telling you will prevent this." She smiled at her youngest son as he walked over to sit right next to her, leaning into her side._

_ "I will listen to _you_ now _nana,_ and to the trees another time."_

_ "Thank you, _tithen lass_."_

_ When Legolas got up in the morning he was smiling. Then, seeing that he was the only one awake, he wandered over to Hamden. The Prince had seen to his wound the night before, and had had to give the man stitches on his forearm. Hamden's ribs—the reason that he had fallen—were thankfully only bruised. Legolas unwrapped the cloth that had been used as a bandage and frowned slightly. It wasn't bleeding anymore, but it was red and in danger of getting infected._

_ Legolas took the liberty of searching through the mens packs that the slightly smaller brown horse was carrying, and pulled out a wooden bowl and spoon, a small pot to heat water, and assorted herbs that they probably used for seasoning in stews. Then he went to his own pack and took out the plant leaves that he had picked up when he was on in both Lothlorien and Fangorn. These were from the plants that his _nana_ had shown him._

_ Hafel, along with Jirod and Hamden, woke up to the warmth of a fire and the scent of something earthy and fresh. They looked over to see their elf helper kneeling by a good sized fire. He held their pot over it with one hand, and the other was holding their wooden spoon that appeared to be crushing something inside their bowl. As they watched, he ladled several spoonful's into whatever concoction he was making in the bowl and stirred. He appeared satisfied with his work and put it off to the side to cool. He put the pot down near the fire—it seemed to still have a bit of water in it—and reached into his pack, and to the astonishment of his watchers, pulled out a whole bottle of expensive looking wine._

_ He popped the cork and poured a bit in with the still hot water in the pot. After the wine was re-corked, he once again held the pot over the fire, and stirred it for a bit. He put the pot down by the fire to cool, picked up his unknown concoction, and stood. When he turned to the men he did not look in the least surprised to see them awake or watching, he just walked straight to Hamden and took the material off his arm._

_ When the elf appeared to be about to put the concoction on his arm, Hamden shied away. "Hey now, what is this? What are you about to be spreadin' on my wound? It looks fine without that green stuff."_

_ The elf child looked at him and spoke slowly, soothingly, with a light accent. "It is to help prevent infection that could spread through your body, deaden your arm, and cause it to be amputated, or kill you."_

_ Hamden was alarmed. "What now—!"_

_ "You will also need to drink half of it. I think it might help… It won't do harm at any rate."_

_ "I'll not be drinkin' anythin'!"_

_ "If you drink your medicine, you can also have the wine that I diluted. If you do not though, I am confident that there is someone around here that could help we with that besides yourself."_

_ Indeed, Hafel and Jirod looked quite eager._

_ Hamden still looked alarmed, but now it was for a completely different reason. "No! I mean… there's no need for that I'll drink it. Here, you go right ahead and slather that whatever-it-is on my arm."_

_ The men did not notice, but Legolas smirked. This was almost exactly what his nana used to do to get him to sit still after he had injured himself, except he had to be tempted with fresh blackberries and bread with honey spread on it. _


End file.
